


The Ginger Ninjas

by flawedamythyst



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 15:09:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's scrapbook of the case of The Ginger Ninjas, with annotations from Sherlock. Based on The Red-Headed League.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ginger Ninjas

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for Christmas, and made booklets using it for my closest friends. This is my attempt to render those booklets in HTML.
> 
> Includes images as well as text, although none of them are particularly large. Most of them are from Google, and I'm not claiming any credit for them. John's cane is from Sherlockology.
> 
> Also posted on LJ, here: http://flawedamythyst.livejournal.com/443902.html, which is the best place to read it. I usually recommend the opposite, but due to HTML limitations on AO3, it actually looks better over there.

The Ginger Ninjas 

_What on earth is this title?_  
 _There were no ninjas! I_  
 _should have thought that having dressed_  
 _as one, you would know the_  
 _difference between a ninja and a_  
 _bank robber, John._

This case started with me and Sherlock cracking up with laughter. Well, that's not technically true – it started with the arrival of Jay Wilson, but the laughter is what I'm going to remember about it. Sherlock doesn't laugh like that very often, and I always enjoy seeing it. 

_I think I enjoy hearing you_  
 _laugh more than seeing it. Your_  
 _giggle is rather infectious, you know._  
 _Of course, I do enjoy the_  
 _lines around your eyes as well._

[ ](http://smg.beta.photobucket.com/user/flawedamythyst/media/Ninjas/laughter.jpg.html)

Jay Wilson (not his real name) ran a pawnshop at Saxe-Coburg Square (not his real address). It's a rather small shop, and he only had one shop assistant, Vince Spaulding (not his real name), who really wanted to be a photographer – Jay said he spent half his time in the cellar where his computer was, photoshopping and manipulating and whatever the hell else people do to photos these days. Apart from that, he was a pretty good employee, and he was the one that gave Jay the postcard advertising the Red-Headed League. 

[ ](http://smg.beta.photobucket.com/user/flawedamythyst/media/Ninjas/cardsmall.jpg.html)

Jay hadn't heard of the League, but Vince explained that a wealthy Victorian philanthropist (who was particularly proud of the colour of his hair) had set up a trust for gingers. For a few hours of work every morning, a ginger person could get £200 a week. Something to do with the propagation and maintenance of red-heads. 

_This is not a complete sentence._

Well, Jay had extremely orange hair, so he went along to the address on the postcard and managed to get hired by the manager, Duncan Ross (not his real name either), despite the group of other gingers that were there. He agreed to go there for four hours every morning, and Vince agreed to run the shop in the meantime. For a while, it all seemed great. Jay's job at the Red-Headed League was just copying out Wikipedia entries, alone in an office. Then, the morning of the day he came to see us, he turned up as usual only to find this card on the door: 

[ ](http://smg.beta.photobucket.com/user/flawedamythyst/media/Ninjas/dissolved.jpg.html)

He asked about, but none of the other businesses in the building had even heard of the League.

It was at this point that we started laughing. Well, I mean – a special society for gingers? Really? It's ridiculous.

Jay was a bit upset about our reaction. Once I'd got control of myself, I managed to appease him. Sherlock, of course, just kept smirking at him.

 _You were smirking too, when you_  
 _thought he wasn't looking._

He did agree to take the case, though, after asking a few more questions about Vince. 

_Aren't you going to supply the_  
 _information I uncovered with my questions?_  
 _How are your readers expected to learn_  
 _anything about my methods if you_  
 _gloss over half the relevant information_  
 _in favour of romanticising our shared_  
 _laughter?_

After Jay had left, Sherlock curled up on the sofa in what he claims is his 'thinking position', but which I think is his impression of a medieval effigy. I left him to it in favour of reading my book. 

_You've left out one of the_  
 _most important events of this case._  
 _I find it impossible to believe_  
 _you've forgotten. Before I started to_  
 _think things over, we had another_  
 _laugh at 'Jay's' expense, and then_  
 _you kissed me._  
 _It's important to include all the_  
 _details, John._

  
[](http://smg.beta.photobucket.com/user/flawedamythyst/media/Ninjas/knighteffigy.jpg.html)  
Sherlock

_You are not as funny as you think you are._

It was a couple of hours before he sprang up. “We're going for a walk,” he announced. “Bring your cane.” 

  
[](http://smg.beta.photobucket.com/user/flawedamythyst/media/Ninjas/cane.jpg.html)  
I hate this thing.

I haven't used that cane since I first moved in to Baker Street, but I still hate the bloody thing. I refused to get it, and Sherlock threw one of his fits. 

_I DO NOT THROW FITS._

“Honestly, John, can't you just do as I say? It's not as if I can use it – it's far too short for me!” 

References to my height never go down particularly well, but in the end he managed to persuade me.

 _Your height is perfect. You've missed out the kissing again._  
 _That was key to persuading you._

We went along to Saxe-Coburg Square, and looked at the outside of Jay's shop. Sherlock insisted that we circled the entire square with me using that bloody cane, then took us back past the shop several times. Every time, he asked me to thump my cane down harder as we walked, until I was imagining thumping it down on his head. We probably looked like complete weirdos, which must be why Vince, Jay's assistant, came out to ask us if we were lost.

 _John, we are 'complete weirdos'. It's why we get on so well._

“We're looking for the Strand,” said Sherlock, as if he doesn't have a map of every street in London in his head. “Third right, fourth left,” said Vince, then stood in the shop doorway and watched as Sherlock led us off in that direction. “That must be the fourth cleverest man in London,” said Sherlock, and then refused to explain what he meant, which is just bloody typical of him. He does love to be cryptic.

 _If you'd just pay attention, it_  
 _wouldn't seem cryptic. You had all_  
 _the same information that I had._

We circled the block with Sherlock giving every building a look of intense interest and still refusing to explain anything, then he announced we were going to a concert. Yeah, I've no idea why either. I thought maybe it was something to do with the case, but actually it seemed he just wanted to listen to violins for a few hours. 

_Oh god, John, how can you_  
 _be so obtuse? It was a date!_  
 _You've been on enough of them,_  
 _surely you can recognise one_  
 _by now?_

[ ](http://smg.beta.photobucket.com/user/flawedamythyst/media/Ninjas/ticket.jpg.html)

_Why on earth did you keep_  
 _the ticket if you didn't realise_  
 _it was a date? That's sentiment, John._

Anyway, afterwards he disappeared for a few hours, and I went home to finish my book.

 _After some more kissing. Honestly, John,_  
 _one might almost think you were_  
 _ashamed of it. But if that were_  
 _the case, you wouldn't have done_  
 _it on the steps of one of_  
 _London's largest concert halls._

When he turned up again, he was with D.I. Jones from Scotland Yard, who we've worked with a couple of times before, and a rather intimidating woman who seemed excruciatingly angry about the whole thing. “This is a waste of my time,” she snapped. “I should be at Ju-jitsu tonight. I'm always at Ju-jitsu on Saturday nights.” “Sherlock's usually right about these things,” said D.I. Jones. “Even if he is a bit obnoxious about them.” Sherlock glared at him, then turned to me. “Get your coat,” he said. “We're leaving immediately.” That was all the explanation I got. We got a taxi, in which Sherlock refused to give me any details, even though it was clear the D.I. and the woman, who turned out to have the rather unlikely name of Jenny Merryweather (not her real name, but it was something equally at odds with her continuing glare), knew exactly what was going on.

 _Why didn't you just call her 'Tinkerbell_  
 _Flufficakes' and be done with it?_

We got out of the taxi and Miss Merryweather led us down some steps, through a dark alley, and then into a door. There was a corridor and some more steps, then we found ourselves in a cellar that seemed to have been abandoned for at least a decade.

 _Fourteen years and seven months. Possibly eight._

Miss Merryweather gave it a distasteful look, then glared at Sherlock. “We go for a drink after Ju-jitsu,” she said. “There are sofas, and usually an open fire.” “How dull,” said Sherlock and sat himself on a mouldering wooden box. “May as well sit down, John, we'll be here a while. And we'll have to keep quiet.” Miss Merryweather made an aggravated noise but sat down as well, and D.I. Jones settled down as well. I sat close to Sherlock and asked him, in a whisper, where the hell we were and what the hell was going on. He let out a sigh, but did, finally, deign to explain that we were in an old sub-basement of a principal London bank which Miss Merryweather was the Head Of Security for. They'd had a large shipment of gold in that they didn't have space for in their normal vault, and which was in a smaller, less-secure one that was accessible from this cellar. 

  
[](http://smg.beta.photobucket.com/user/flawedamythyst/media/Ninjas/Old_Bank_Building_in_Bicester_-_geographorguk_-_1416143.jpg.html)  
Not this bank, obviously.

_This looks absolutely nothing like the bank we were at._

Needless to say, I had no idea what any of that had to do with Jay and his club for gingers. Sherlock announced that we had to be deadly silent and turn all the lights out before I could ask any more questions. We sat there for ages in the dark while I tried to put together all the pieces I had to make some sort of coherent whole. I couldn't, of course – only Sherlock is clever enough to work these things out from so little.

 _That is most definitely not what_  
 _you were doing while we sat_  
 _pressed together in the dark._

Eventually, a square of light appeared in the middle of the floor. I started at it and Sherlock put a hand on my arm to calm me. 

_Both my hands were already on you._

“Be ready,” he whispered in my ear, so softly I could barely hear it. “There'll probably be a fight.” The square of light opened up and a figure climbed through, then reached to take a torch from someone who was still below. Sherlock immediately leapt up and grabbed for him. The torch went flying, and there was a very confused skirmish in the dark which ended with the first criminal in a pair of D.I. Jones's handcuffs, and the other disappearing back down their tunnel.

 _This is not at all an adequate_  
 _description of a fight in which_  
 _you played a key part in an extremely_  
 _dashing and courageous manner. Also,_  
 _you've completely missed your chance to_  
 _make at least some sense of your_  
 _ludicrous title and mention that the_  
 _second criminal was the red-headed man_  
 _who had run the 'Red-Headed League'_  
 _scam. Given his black outfit, he's the_  
 _closest to a 'ginger ninja' that_  
 _this case came to._

When we had a bit of light on the situation, I could see the criminal was Vince Spaulding. “Fucking bastards,” he swore at us. “At least my mate got away.” “Hardly,” said Sherlock. “We have police waiting at Jay Wilson's shop.” Vince swore at him rather a lot at that. D.I. Jones told him to button it, and took him up out of the cellar to where a police car was waiting. Sherlock swept along behind him, barely pausing to hear Miss Merryweather thank us on the behalf of the bank and offer us a financial reward.

 _Because I knew you would sort that_  
 _out. You're extremely reliable about_  
 _sorting out all the tedious financial_  
 _side of things._

_Here was where the sex occurred,_  
 _which you have also skipped over._  
 _I'm disappointed, John._

It wasn't until much later that Sherlock finally bothered to explain to me that he'd recognised Jay's description of his assistant as being a bank robber called John Clay, and had worked out just from that that the Red-Headed League was merely a ploy to get Jay out of the shop so that they could dig a tunnel into the bank's cellar. That was what all the thumping with my cane was about – he was listening to see if it was hollow. I can't believe he got so much from so little – it's just incredible.

 _Yes, I am. So was the sex._

Course, when I said that, all he said was that it had saved him from being bored for a bit, and then collapse back down onto the sofa. How can he be both so brilliant and so infuriating?

_That wasn't the sofa, it was_  
 _your bed. And you took care_  
 _to keep me from being bored_  
 _for a little while longer by_  
 _following me down._


End file.
